


haunted

by nadin



Category: WW84 - Fandom, Wonder Woman (2017), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, WW84-compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-12 04:44:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20163373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nadin/pseuds/nadin
Summary: WonderTrev love week 2019Day 5 - Hurt/comfortThere is no forgiveness and no redemption in the eyes of someone who she used to think of as a friend.When the sharp claws slice through Diana’s skin, it doesn’t hurt as much as the sorrow that blossoms in her chest, so overwhelming it threatens to swallow her whole.Steve takes care of Diana after her final battle with Cheetah. Set in the WW84 universe.





	haunted

**Author's Note:**

> I have to admit, the relationship -and its downfall- between Diana and Barbara Ann is one of the things that most excites me about WW84. They have such an interesting and complex dynamic in Rebirth I can't help but be intrigued. 
> 
> However, I also do think that it will quite likely be complicated and dramatic one in the film - wouldn't expect anything less from the amazing Patty Jenkins.

_Diana stares into a pair of amber eyes and tries to find familiarity in them._

_For a flicker of a moment, there is a flash of recognition, and hope flares in her chest._

_Barbara Ann._

_But then the face in front of her contorts into a grimace, the lips stretch, baring two rows of sharp teeth and a low growl forms in the back of Cheetah’s throat. Her muscles tense, her body is poised for an attack._

_“What arrrrre you looking at, Princessssss?” she hisses venomously. “Came to sssssee what you’ve done?”_

_Diana’s heart thuds once, twice, three times against her rib cage. Her hand curls around the hilt of her sword but, for once, the feeling is more disconcerting than comforting._

_There is no forgiveness and no redemption in the eyes of someone who she used to think of as a friend._

_When the sharp claws slice through Diana’s skin, it doesn’t hurt as much as the sorrow that blossoms in her chest, so overwhelming it threatens to swallow her whole._

\---

Diana takes a breath. And then another one. And then another, until it stops requiring conscious effort on her part, natural instinct taking over.

The water is hot against her body, burning her skin and making the nicks and cuts sting as the steam fills the space around her. She presses her palm flat against the cool tiles and bows her head, watching the water swirl at her feet, circling around the drain before it pours down the pipe, going to a place Diana can’t envision. Something to focus on, she thinks absently, for not having this would force her to think about what had gone down between her and Cheetah several hours ago. And she is not ready to deal with that yet.

_“…what you’ve done?”_

Barbara Ann’s words surge through her mind.

Diana squeezes her eyes shut but it only makes everything worse, the image of her friend-turned-foe too bright and too vividly-clear in her head.

She does not want to remember Barbara Ann like this; with vicious hunger in her eyes and blood on the corners of her mouth, her remorse dormant or lost forever, overcome by the beast within.

Diana’s chest constricts, the world swaying around her.

_“Too late, Prrrrincessss.”_

She snaps her eyes open and inhales as the makings of a sob rise in her throat, struggling to find her equilibrium again, her fingers flexing on the tiled wall. How long will it be till she can close her eyes without staring at the face of someone who no longer sees her for who she is?

She stays in the shower until she can’t bear the heat anymore, scrubbing her body over and over again. Until her skin starts to feel raw and tender, and the bitter truth of her failure to save someone dear to her has taken root in her chest, refusing to leave.

She used to think that her defeats had started and stopped with Steve.

Foolish—

With a shaking hand, Diana turns off the water. She steps out of the shower, the soft towel rough against her body, rubbing over the three gashes running across her left shoulder blade. She ignores the discomfort of it. Her palm sweeps over the condensation coating the mirror before her, revealing a face she can barely recognize.

Barbara Ann had been wrong – the decision she had made was hers, and hers alone. But she had been right, too. Diana was her friend, she should have known to stop what had happened. It is not her doing, but the guilt and remorse are there nonetheless, eating her up on the inside. When she promised to protect those who needed her, she never imagined how hard it would be to keep it.

She chooses not to think of the cruel irony of being able to defy gods yet having to watch the people dearest to her slip right through her fingers, powerless to stop it more often than not.

In the mirror, she sees another blurred shadow appear behind her.

Steve.

For a few moments, he hovers in the doorway, and she wonders what it is that he is seeing, desperate to have a glimpse of herself through his eyes.

He moves to her then.

“Let me have a look,” he says quietly, brushing Diana’s damp hair to the side to reveal the cuts that pulse with dull pain every time she moves, with every breath she takes.

She doesn’t stop him.

His touch is gentle, his fingers cool, the familiarity of it makes the tightness in her chest unravel. She’s been hurt before. Had the breath knocked out of her and her skin slashed, her muscles burning against the blows she has deflected, her bones straining against those that she hadn’t. Such is the fate of a warrior, and it no longer comes with a shock. Not the physical part of it, at least.

“It will be gone before morning,” Diana says, turning her head slightly to the side.

Steve runs his knuckles up and down her arm. “I know,” he says, pressing a kiss to the back of her head. She chooses not to hear the slight tremor in his voice. “Looks bad anyway. Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“Liar,” he hums.

The corners of Diana’s mouth lift a little, a hint of a smile working its way to her face.

She doesn’t correct him.

Doesn’t resist when he steers her towards the bedroom, either. Doesn’t stop him when he produces their medical kit seemingly out of nowhere while nudging her towards the bed. She’s got to take care of him more times than she can count, treating his cuts and bruises, and she recognizes his need to return the favour. To be there for her when he can’t help her stop what has already happened, not anymore. She understands it all too well.

The sting of antiseptic burns her skin, making Diana go still, her breath catching in her throat. Somehow, the aftermath is always worse than the battle.

“Sorry,” Steve murmurs, his hand pulling away and the next moment she can feel him blow softly on one of the cuts, the burning sensation of the sharp-smelling liquid ebbing.

Another moment, and his lips graze her bare shoulder – a feather-light touch to comfort her as much as to reassure himself that she is alright. Diana feels the warmth of his breath on her skin, his hesitation nearly palpable, and her heart squeezes fiercely, her hand curling into a fist against the need to turn around and soothe him back.

He goes on with his task. His touch is careful, and it’s the gentleness of it that makes her eyes sting more than the burn of the alcohol against the injured flesh.

Her heart gives a hollow thud against her breastbone.

“I really am fine,” she whispers.

“That may be so,” Steve concedes easily, “but you are not getting into bed until we bandage this all up. Not if you are going to bleed all over the place.”

Diana glances at him over her shoulder. “Your concern is touching,” she notes dryly.

He looks up and the smile that he offers her is tired but genuine. One of those that she loves best. 

“Hey, those are expensive sheets,” he points out, and Diana can’t help but laugh a little.

She can’t argue with that. Can’t argue with the need to make this about something nonsensical, either. It is not about the attack or the blood or the throbbing ache that seems to have found a home in the periphery of her attention, and she just wants it to go away.

He is worried about her even though she is near damn indestructible. So what does that say about how she feels when she watches him run into a fight?

Diana pushes the thought away and lets him have this moment. She doesn’t need him to do this, and Steve is well aware of that. But earlier tonight, when he had first seen the bruises on her skin and the cuts painted across her back, when he had taken her shield from her hand and helped Diana peel her armour off, the power balance between them had shifted. She had seen it in his eyes – the same panic that rears its ugly head inside of her each time he gets hurt.

She can take care of herself, they both know that, but right now, she needs him to go through all those motions as much as he does. She doesn’t think either of them will heal properly if she stops him.

She feels his fingers at the base of her neck, moving her hair out of the way. Feels the alcohol-drenched piece of cotton leave trails on her skin. Had it not been so painful, she’d find the process relaxing, Diana thinks absently. Her pulse stutters for a moment, and then settles into a familiar pattern.

Steve is her home, and the steady assuredness of it is enough to soothe her mind.

“I’ve seen the news,” he speaks after a while, and Diana can’t help but tense up. “Want to…” he clears his throat as if the words he is trying to say don’t want to come out. “What happened?”

“I lost,” Diana says simply.

She doesn’t know how to explain to him that even though she has brought Barbara Ann back, the _real_ Barbara Ann, leaving Cheetah behind, something between them has snapped, destroyed forever. She doesn’t know how to put it into words, not yet.

She knows he won’t press for more than she is willing to share. This is what she loves about Steve, among other things – he doesn’t insist on trying to see the things the way she does. He accepts that sometimes it is not possible, and for that, Diana is grateful.

There is a rustling of plastic packaging behind her, and she turns her head enough to see him pull a gauze pad out of a packet.

Steve looks up, catching her looking. He pauses, and she tries to ignore the turmoil in his eyes that he hasn’t had time to hide.

“Good thing I have a lot of experience with this stuff,” he tells her a little too cheerfully, waving the gauze before her and making a face. “In the army… if you can’t patch up one another, you’re all as good as dead. At least you smell better than some of the guys I’ve had to deal with.”

He wrinkles his nose for good measure.

Diana knows it shouldn’t be funny, but she can’t bite back her smile nonetheless.

“I’m in good hands then,” she says, shaking her head a little.

The gauze affixed in place, Diana rolls her shoulder gingerly. The tugging pain is there but it is less present now, and she wonders how soon it will be before her skin is smooth again, any trace of the fight erased. A few hours, perhaps.

She unwraps the towel and leaves it on the edge of the bed as she reaches for one of Steve’s shirts – it’s loose and less likely to cause any discomfort than her own sleepwear. Not that she needs that excuse – she loves the touch of soft, worn cotton and the way his shirts all smell very faintly of him. If he minds her wearing them, he has never said anything, and tonight, it’s all she needs.

Steve helps her put it on – Diana can’t lift her left arm without a jolt of pain shooting across her back, and without dislodging her bandage, too. He pulls it over her head and then brushes her hair from her face with a small laugh. She turns her head, leaning into his touch and kisses the heel of his hand, watching the amusement fade, replaced by something raw. When he crowds her space, his eyes searching hers, she is grateful for his proximity.

“I hate seeing you hurt,” he whispers, resting his forehead against hers.

“Now you know how I feel a lot of the time,” she breathes. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, quietly, and she knows that he means it. 

Diana’s palm curls over his jaw.

“I love you,” she murmurs so softly, the sound of it all but a whoosh of breath.

He presses a kiss to her forehead and then steps back and tugs at her hand. She follows without hesitation. He pulls at the covers and she climbs into bed, settling into him, half sprawled over his chest so as not to disturb her wounds. He doesn’t seem to mind, and neither does Diana as she curls one arm around him.

He runs his hand up and down her back. “Sorry,” he murmurs when she stiffens as he grazes a little too close to the bandage.

“I’m alright,” she says quietly, feeling him relax beneath her.

For a few minutes, she is worried that sleep is going to be a problem – she is exhausted but her mind is wired and overwhelmed, leaving her filled with jittery energy. But the seconds tick by and Diana feels herself relax, lulled by the warmth of Steve’s body and his steady heartbeat thumping against her own chest. He is threading his fingers idly through her hair, and the small sleepy noises he makes pull her deeper still. Until there is no Cheetah and no Barbara Ann, and all is right in the world, for once.

Steve presses a kiss to the crown of her head, and it’s the last thing Diana is aware of before she falls asleep.

\---

She wakes up a few hours later with a scream lodged in her throat and her muscles tense, ready to deflect an attack. The night is moonless and the room is nearly pitch-black, and for a long horrifying moment, she is disoriented and confused, and nothing makes sense.

“Diana?”

She gulps a hungry breath, and then another one, her heart beating so fast she feels dizzy. The distorted images of a dream that is already starting to fade away flash through her mind. Sharp teeth and hot breath and the smell of blood and that sensation of moving like she was underwater that only dreams can summon filling her with desperation beyond anything she’s ever known. She can feel those claws on her skin, except this time they don’t stop at one slash. This time they slice through her over and over again—

“Hey.”

A hand touches her face, and Diana forces herself to focus.

Steve.

Even in the dark, his eyes are worried and she feels instantly ashamed, wishing to comfort him, but not knowing how to do it.

“I’m… I need—” she starts, pulling away from him.

The shirt she is wearing is damp with sweat when she slips out of bed, looking away from him, unable to hold his gaze. The cool air of the room makes her shiver as she pads out of the bedroom, the floor cold against the soles of her feet. She pushes her hand through her hair and forces herself to slow down her breathing.

The bandage rustles beneath her shirt when she moves, tugging at her skin, but the dull throbbing she has felt earlier is not there, and Diana knows that if she removes it, there won’t be anything underneath it. Not anymore. The last traces of the past two days erased without a single mark. She should be relieved by that, but try as she might, she can’t seem to find it in her.

In the kitchen, she paces between the table and the sink, desperate to shake off the grip of the nightmare that seems to have planted itself in her brain. She pauses before the cupboard and reaches for one of the glasses, but stops when she notices that her hands are shaking.

“Diana.”

She looks up, and Steve is standing in the doorway leading to the living room, blinking sleepily at her. His hair is mussed and he is stripped down to his boxers and undershirt, and the sight of it – so familiar and dear to her heart – all but undoes her. Her throat grows hot, and she has to swallow past the lump in her throat, not trusting herself to speak, unshed tears burning her eyes.

He crosses the kitchen without a word and gathers her to him. She expects the touch to feel invasive, the way it had a few minutes ago when she’d woken up, but her body welcomes it with a will of its own, her arms coming to rest around him, seeking the solid steadiness of his embrace.

“I get them too,” he whispers when she tucks her face into the hollow of his neck, breathing him in. “Nightmares. After the war, you can’t not remember…”

“She is my friend, Steve,” Diana murmurs, her voice tight and on the verge of breaking. “She _was_…” she corrects herself and trails off. “I failed her.”

He strokes her back, and she squeezes her eyes shut, unable to stand the tenderness of it when the rest of her feels like an exposed nerve. 

“You didn’t.” Steve’s lips graze over her temple before he rests his cheek against the side of her head. “You can protect them but you can’t save them from the choices they make.”

Those are words that Diana has said to him once, a long time ago when he had asked her if she felt as strongly about saving mankind as she had when they first met. She hates how true they ring now, and even more – how little she can do to change it. It felt like little consolation when she had first lost him. It shouldn’t surprise her, perhaps, that it hasn’t changed since then, but she yearns for reassurance anyway.

The thought makes her hold on him tighten lest he slip right out of her grasp.

They stay like this for a long time – until Diana’s heartbeat is no longer wild and out of control. Until she can breathe without feeling the tight coil in her chest and her mind grows foggy. There hasn’t been a moment since they’ve met when Diana hasn’t been grateful for whatever it was that had brought them together. But she wonders now, with her cheek pressed to his shoulder and a fistful of his shirt bunched in her hand, if she has ever loved him more than she does at this moment.

He has called her his saviour more times than she can remember, she thinks absently as he leads her back to bed. But does he know that he has saved her too? That he keeps saving her every day that she has him?

\---

In the bright light of the harsh morning sun, Diana’s skin looks smooth when she peels the bandage off. She stares at the spot in the mirror for a long time, not sure how she feels about it.

When she was young, she used to be envious of the scars and marks crisscrossing the bodies of her sisters – badges of honour, each telling a story that shouldn’t be forgotten. She couldn’t wait to grow up and have her own, not knowing yet that her divinity would rob her of just that.

She wishes she could keep the marks left on her by Cheetah as a reminder of the loss of a friend who she knows will never be found again.

“You will want to forget,” Steve tells her softly, running his fingers over the spot he’d had to tend to only hours ago, but his touch doesn’t linger. “One day, you will want to be able to put it behind.”

Diana known he speaks of his own scars, and she doesn’t object, each of them trapped with their own demons.

But when her memory brings up amber eyes and a vicious scowl, she is not sure if it is something she ever wants to not remember.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :)
> 
> Thoughts, comments, and feedback are always much appreciated!


End file.
